


Lost To You

by scarletladyy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adultery, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-28 07:00:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletladyy/pseuds/scarletladyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's no getting out of a Ministry function when you're an Auror, so for Harry, that means running into Malfoy and his wife. He's trying not to let that silver-blond hair distract him, but one look in those hard, grey eyes and he's lost to them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost To You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for cerberusia for hd_tropes 2013. Many, many thanks to the mods for being so patient and kind with me, and also to my beta, flipflop_diva, for being ever so lovely and helping me out hugely with this ♥

I've been telling myself all night that I'm absolutely fine, that I don't care that Malfoy's across the room with his wife, acting like he's having the time of his life. It hasn't worked, though; I'm not fooling myself. _Of course_ I care. I know I shouldn't, but I do.

And damn it, so does he! I can tell he knows I'm watching him by the way he runs his fingers casually through his hair the way he knows I like. Then, for the briefest of moments, his eyes rest on mine. Before I can return any sort of expression, they're gone, and he places a protective arm around his wife's waist. Merlin, I hate him. He knows just how to get to me. 

"Harry?"

"Huh?"

"Harry, mate? Are you listening?"

I turn to look at Ron as though I've only just noticed he's there, when it seems he's been talking to me for the past ten minutes. I've been too busy watching Malfoy to really care what Ron's going on about, but I can't exactly tell him that. "Yeah, sorry," I say, taking my gaze off Malfoy and focusing on Ron. It doesn't exactly help that Malfoy's hair is so brightly blond that I can see it in my peripheral vision. "What were you saying?"

"About that Quidditch game on Wednesday. Chudley Cannons vs Appleby Arrows. You up for it?"

"Er, yeah, yeah okay. What time is it?"

"Starts at five. I'll come to yours, yeah?"

"Yeah," I say, noticing out of the corner of my eye that the silver-blond hair is moving. "Hang on, I'll be back in a minute."

"All right." 

I try not to make it too obvious that I'm following Malfoy as I leave the room moments after him. He's heading for the bathroom, it looks like, so I can probably get away with saying it was just a coincidence if anyone says anything. I doubt they will, though. They're all too occupied with their own lives and dramas. That's why I hate these events; Malfoy, like apparently everyone else, can blend in easily and appear to have a good time, but me? I stick out like a sore thumb. I hate them; I only go because it's expected.

I glance behind me just to make sure nobody's watching before I enter the bathroom, but Malfoy's nowhere to be seen. I frown and let the door shut behind me, and I've only taken one step forward when the blond hair reappears and its owner pushes me roughly against the bathroom door.

"Do you have to make it so damn obvious that you're watching me, Potter?" 

Malfoy's arm is heavy against my chest and his grey eyes are narrowed in anger. "Shove off, Malfoy. I wasn't watching you. I was just ... daydreaming."

"Yeah? Well daydream in a different direction next time, then." His grip loosens, and he takes his wand out of his pocket. I go for mine, but he's too quick, grabbing my wrist roughly with his other hand. "I've told you not to come to these events any more. It's plain to see you don't like seeing me and Astoria together."

"What?" I laugh, but it's hollow. He's right, but I won't give him the satisfaction of admitting to it. "Don't be stupid. I don't care about you or your damn wife."

"Watch it, Potter," he growls, banging my wrist against the wall. He's never liked me even mentioning his wife, never mind slagging her off. It's as though, when he's with me, he wants me to completely forget she even exists. And I do, most of the time. I attempt to pull my grasp free of Malfoy's as he starts casting spells on the bathroom. I know what's coming, and I'm powerless to stop it even if I wanted to. "I know I'm irresistible," he says with a smirk, finally freeing me. "But you really should conduct yourself better in public. People may start to think there's something going on between us."

I roll my eyes. "There _is_ something going on between us."

"You wish." 

I hate it when he does that. He can deny everything between us so easily, yet I remember everything. Every look, every touch, every meeting. I even remember down to the last orgasm. It's a front, it must be. Else why would he keep coming back? Why, at a Ministry function of all places, would he accost me in the bathroom if he felt _nothing_ for me?

"Whatever," I say weakly, deciding if he's going to behave like a prick then I'm out of here. I turn and grab the handle of the door, secretly hoping he'll tell me to stop, but he doesn't. He doesn't need to. He's locked us in. I assumed he'd cast silence and bedazzlement spells, but not that he'd locked us in! I fish in my pocket for my wand, but it's not there, and when I turn to scowl at Malfoy, he's smirking and holding my wand up.

"Looking for this?" he asks snidely, twirling it between his fingers. "You really should be more alert, Potter. You are an Auror, after all. And The Boy Who Lived. Or did you forget?"

I lunge forward to grab at it, but I miss by quite a way, and he ends up laughing at me. My reflexes are a little slow as I've had more Firewhiskeys than I should have. Once Ginny sees me, she'll probably demand we go home, lest I embarrass her. Not much chance of that yet, though. She's too busy chatting to the newest member of her Quidditch team.

"Is that the best you can do?" Malfoy taunts, holding my wand out for me and then pulling it out of my grasp when I reach for it.

"Stop it," I try to say firmly. "I don't want to play games."

"No?" Malfoy stops fooling around and places my wand in his own pocket. "Okay, then. Whatever you want, Potter."

"I _want_ my wand, and I _want_ to leave."

"What was it Umbridge had you write lines of that time?" He pretends to think. "Ahh yes, I remember my father telling me. 'I must not tell lies', wasn't it? Did the message not sink in?"

"Fuck you, Malfoy."

Malfoy laughs. "Oh no, Potter. We both know it's me that does the fucking in this relationship, don't we?"

I turn away, blushing. He knows me too damn well. I should never have let him get so close to me, never have let this take off in the first place. I should have just said no and meant it, but I didn't. I liked it, enjoyed it, and then I started to crave it. Now I'm lost in a confusing haze, unsure of my feelings for Malfoy. I hate him, but at the same time, when we're fucking, it's like there's a connection between us. A connection I've never been able to make with anyone else, ever. I want to know he feels the same, too, but he won't admit his feelings. I think he does, I'm almost certain of it, but doubts plague my mind whenever I see him with his wife or exuding his natural charm on anyone but me. At least he just acknowledged we have _some_ sort of a relationship, though. That's a start. 

"Let me go, Malfoy," I say with a resounding sigh. If we're not going to _do_ anything, then I don't want to stay here simply being taunted by him. I'm worth more than that, at least.

"No." Malfoy's voice is cold and firm now, his laughter of a second ago long gone. He walks toward me with a piercing stare, fixing me to the wall by his eyes only. "I have, shall we say, urges. And you, unfortunately, are the only one that can satisfy them. So satisfy me you will."

I swallow hard as he descends on me, our bodies touching now as he presses me lightly against the wall with his. His eyes search mine, looking for the desire he knows is there. He finds it and takes it as his cue, placing an arm around my neck and drawing me in for a fierce, rough kiss. I return it; it's sloppy and all over the place, but I don't care. I've finally got what I've been wanting all night, even though I really wish I _didn't_ want it. 

Malfoy starts pulling at my robes, opening them up, and I position myself forward slightly to make it easier for him. He undoes my trousers as we continue to kiss, our breathing hot and heavy. He pulls my boxers and trousers down to my knees, exposing my semi-hard cock, and begins to tease it with his fingertips as he draws his kiss away from my mouth and down onto my neck. He bites down hard and sucks in, an action that I know from experience will leave a noticeable mark. If I'm brutally honest, I like being marked by him in such a way. It makes me feel like I'm 'his'. It helps me get through the day when everyone talks about him or I have to visit him in a professional capacity and see a photo of his beautiful wife and children sitting happily on his desk.

"Turn around," Malfoy says roughly, seemingly annoyed when I struggle because my trousers are around my ankles. I manage it, no thanks to him because he more hindered than aided my attempt, and as soon as I do, his hands are all over me again. He nips at my neck as I hear him fumbling with his own robes, his hands brushing my arse and making goosebumps appear on my flesh. I want him to hurry up, I want to feel him inside me.

I don't have to wait long. As soon as Malfoy frees his cock, I feel it between my legs, pushing between my cheeks. He whispers a spell and my arse is lubed up, ready for him to take me. He enters me roughly, just how I like it, and I groan loudly and arch my back. He makes no noise; he never does. He's the silent, sultry type during sex and doesn't like dirty talk. Suits me fine; it's about time something shut the ferret up.

Malfoy places his hands upon my hips, giving himself more control over me and the way he's fucking. It feels good, so, _so_ good, and I've really needed this. I press my head forward and lean it on the bathroom door, enjoying the pleasure I'm receiving, without guilt for once. I grab my own cock and begin to stroke, slowly at first, then, as Malfoy increases his pace, faster.

His nails are long and dig into my skin, but I don't mind. I'll have to keep the bruises hidden else anyone suspect anything, but when I'm alone, I'll look at them and the marks on my neck in the mirror and re-live this moment. The very moment I both crave and dread, by the very person I've hated for the majority of my life. The moment that'll make my cock hard just by remembering it.

I can tell when Malfoy's getting close; he lets out an involuntary grunt and squeezes my hips, then roughly thrusts twice more into me and empties himself. I'm almost there myself, and the slap Malfoy gives my arse is enough to send me over the edge, my come splattering across the door as I let out a loud groan.

Malfoy pulls out as quick as he went in, doing up his trousers. I redo mine and sort out my robes, and when I've turned around, Malfoy's checking himself in the mirror. 

"Out of the way, Potter," Malfoy says as soon as he's corrected his hair. I don't move. It's ridiculous, but I don't want him to go just yet. It doesn't feel right for him to leave as soon as we're done. He should give us a couple of minutes, at least. He might not need them, but I do. "I said, 'move'."

"You can't just fuck me and leave!"

"I can and I am." He isn't even looking at me. He calmly takes my wand out of his pocket and places it on the sink behind him, fingering it for a moment before he lets go. He says no more as he walks toward me, pushes me roughly out of the way and undoes all his spells. He exits as soon as he's able, and I'm left in this huge void. I know I have to go back to the party soon; someone will have noticed how long I've been. Ron, probably.

Not quite yet ready, I go to the sink and look in the mirror. I'm a little red and my neck has Malfoy's mark on it, but other than that, I look fine. I rinse my hands under the tap and wash my face a couple of times, attempting to cool down and refresh myself. I may be sated orgasm-wise, but I'll still have to go out there and watch Malfoy with his wife. I grab a few paper towels and dry my face off, double-checking myself one last time in the mirror before grabbing my wand, cleaning up my come and exiting.

Nobody notices when I enter. Nobody even looks my way. I make my way over to the bar, avoiding anyone's eye contact. Logically I know nobody knows what just happened, but I'm too ashamed to really look at anyone. _I_ know, and that's enough. I hate Malfoy and I hate his cock, and I hate his attitude most of all. It hurts even more that it's his attitude that keeps me going back half the time.

"Double Firewhisky," I snap at the barman, not really caring about my reputation right now. Malfoy's fucked me right off, in more ways than one, and I need a stiff drink. I drop a few coins on the bar as I collect my glass and wander off to find Ron. Hopefully he can bore me with Quidditch or how much he's lusting after Parkinson even though she's married.

I find him, somewhat predictably, around the buffet, filling up his plate. His food collection is already in the shape of a mountain, and yet he's still adding sausage rolls and squares of cheese to the sides. He smiles at me with big, bulging cheeks full of food, and I can’t help but roll my eyes in jest. Ron does love his food, and thanks to the amount of Quidditch he still does, he hardly ever puts on weight.

"All right, mate," he says after swallowing his mouthful. "Where've you been? You've been gone ages."

"Yeah, I got collared by a couple of people wanting autographs."

"You should have told them no," he replies grumpily. He still doesn't like all the attention I receive, even now. It's not even as if I want it! I'd happily give it all up; I've attempted to several times, but the press won't have any of it. I sell too many papers, unfortunately.

I shrug. "Maybe." My answer's casual; I know I'm not going to stop signing them. It's not as if I like it, but if I refuse I'll have too many people on my back about it, and the _Prophet_ will probably run a story. I don't want that. It's easier to sign what they want me to sign and occasionally pose for photos. "Have you seen Hermione tonight?" I ask, changing the subject.

"No," Ron replies, coming away from the buffet and leading us to a table. We sit and he starts into his mountain of food, hardly pausing for a breath or even to continue speaking to me. "She's probably with Malfoy, though."

"Yeah, could be." It's hard to keep the annoyance out of my voice at the mention of Malfoy, but I do a pretty good job. Hermione and Malfoy are co-workers in the Department of Mysteries; they're both Unspeakables and have gotten rather close during the last few months. Apparently, according to Hermione, Malfoy's wife is “a hoot”. Okay, well, she didn't say Astoria was _exactly_ like that, but her enthusiasm was along those annoying lines.

"I'm sure she'll come and see us once they're done avoiding answering all the questions from that _Prophet_ article." 

"Oh, yeah, course." I've forgotten about that. I've been so wrapped up with thinking about Malfoy that the strange object that was found a few days ago and then given to the Unspeakables has just slipped my mind. The _Prophet_ had gotten wind of it and printed all sorts of lies, so Hermione and the other Unspeakables have been harassed ever since. Of course, they've had to say “No comment” to absolutely everything, but we haven't seen Hermione since the object was found. Whatever it is must need a lot of attention. 

"Hey, have you seen Parkinson this evening?" Ron says gleefully as he finishes off his plate. It didn't take him long at all. "She's looking good. She's wearing a blue and silver dress. Reckon that's for her husband?"

"I dunno," I say, shrugging. I don't pay Parkinson any mind at all. I don't think she's anywhere near as fit as Ron thinks she is; she's still got that pug nose, even though she's spelled it as much as possible. She'll probably have to get a professional Healer to do some work if she wants it completely gone. 

"Back in a minute." Ron stands and goes back to the buffet table. I watch him for a few moments as he piles up his plate again, although not quite so high this time. He grabs a banana from the fruit stand as he makes his way back, as though that'll negate all the junk he's eating.

"Harry, Ron!" Hermione comes walking up, looking completely exhausted. She takes a seat opposite mine and side-eyes Ron's plate, then shares a knowing look with me. "I'm sorry I haven't been able to get over before now. I had a couple of work things to sort with Draco, and then everyone was assaulting us with questions after that _ridiculous_ article." She crosses her arms and huffs, her eyes narrowing. "How are you two?"

_Draco now, is it?_ is all I can think, though I don't dare say it. "Fine," I reply. Perhaps I can get away asking about Malfoy a little. I haven't seen even a glimpse of him since our bathroom encounter, which must be close to a half hour ago now, but he's probably avoiding me. "What business did you have with Malfoy?"

"You know I can't answer that, Harry," Hermione replies tersely.

"Sorry." I hold my hands up in mock apology. "I just wasn't sure if it was to do with, well, you know."

"Well, it was. That's all I'll say." She relaxes a little. "He's all right, you know. Malfoy. He's been surprisingly calm and in control given what's happened this past week. I've been a nightmare to work with, I'm sure, but he's taken it all in stride. It's that Rita Skeeter, I know it is. And you guys know how I can't keep myself in check when she's involved."

I smile; Hermione doesn't get angry very often, but just hearing the name “Rita Skeeter” is enough to make her blood boil. "I'm sure Malfoy's not the saint you make him out to be. In fact, I know he isn't. He tried to kill me, don't you remember?" I say.

"That was a long time ago, Harry," she says, sighing. "Everyone else has managed to build bridges and move on. Why can't you? Draco's even expressed an interest in getting to know you, but he's certain you won't want to know him. I told him otherwise, but it seems he might be right."

I hate it when Malfoy's right. And I hate the way he's manipulating Hermione like this. Get to know me, my arse. He wants nothing to do with me unless my arse is actually involved. "He's not right," I say firmly. "If he's civil, I'll be civil."

"Great!" Hermione beams. "Come on, then." She stands and tucks her chair in, leaving a very confused Ron and me staring at her. "What?"

"What do you mean 'come on, then'?" I raise my eyebrows and look at Ron, but he seems just as puzzled as I am. 

"He didn't think I'd be able to get you to come over and talk with him, but I said I would. I said you weren't that petty."

"I can see what you're doing," I say, standing up. She looks worried for a moment, then relaxes when I smile and show I'm jesting. She's not manipulating me; Malfoy's manipulating her. I'll show him just how civil I can be. "Coming, Ron?"

"No chance." Ron thinks the same about Malfoy as I do, and Hermione knows he's so stubborn she'll never get him to change his mind. He might fancy Parkinson, but that's about as far as he's willing to go to “build bridges”, as Hermione puts it.

"I'm not staying chatting with him all night, though."

"I wouldn't expect you to," Hermione replies sweetly. She leads us through the crowds to the very opposite corner of the room, where Malfoy's sat with his wife. Hermione brings over another chair for me and sits in the one next to Malfoy, which I assume is the one she'd previously occupied.

"Potter," Malfoy says with a smirk. He's got an arm on the back of the sofa, his hand leaning down and resting on his wife's shoulder. I doubt she'd let him do that if she knew exactly what he'd done to me just a bit ago. "I've got to hand it to you, Hermione, I didn't think he'd come. In fact, I think congratulations are in order for you, Potter."

"Congratulations?" I lean back in my chair and make myself comfortable, my elbows resting on the sides.

"Yes. I want to congratulate you for not being as petty as I thought you were."

Oh, you bastard. "Indeed," I reply through gritted teeth.

"I don't think you've met my wife yet, have you, Potter?" He sits forward a little and wraps his arm around her waist. "Not formally, anyway. Astoria, this is Harry Potter. Potter, this is my wife, Astoria."

"Nice to meet you," I say politely, offering my hand out to her. She looks at me confused while Hermione and Malfoy begin to laugh. I suddenly realise my mistake and withdraw it.

"We're not Muggles, Potter."

"Behave, Draco," Astoria chides. "He was only trying to be polite, I'm sure." She turns and smiles sweetly at me. "It's nice to meet you too, Harry. We crossed paths only a couple of times in Hogwarts and hardly ever since, and of course, I knew of you by name, too."

"Sure, sure."

"Draco tells me you didn't exactly get on in school."

That's the understatement of the year. He must have told her a carefully selected version of our history. "Yes, well. That's all in the past now. We were, after all, only children."

Astoria nods her head in agreement while Hermione smiles proudly; Draco smirks. Hermione and Astoria are the genuine ones here; Malfoy's playing this entire situation. I don't smirk in response, only smile as nicely as I can. I know what he's doing, and he knows that I know what he's doing. I suppose he gets off on this sort of thing.

"You both like Quidditch, don't you?" Hermione says, very obviously trying to find a common ground between us.

"Oh yes." Astoria places a hand on Draco's head and strokes his hair back. "Draco loves Quidditch. He's going to that Chudley Cannons game on Wednesday. Are you going, Harry?"

"Ron's got me a ticket, but I don't know if I'll go yet."

"You should go, Harry," Hermione says encouragingly. "Perhaps you can both go with Draco."

"Oh now, I don't—"

"Yes," Malfoy interrupts me. "That sounds nice."

I raise an eyebrow. _Really?_ "I suppose we could try it. If it doesn't go well—"

"Don't be pessimistic, Harry. It'll go fine. You just have to be polite, that's all." Hermione pats my knee and beams at me. She seems happy that I'm getting on with Malfoy; I suppose it makes life easier for her as she gets closer to him.

"Excuse me, I'm just going to get a drink." I stand and make my way through the crowds. I'm not really heading for a drink, I just want some space. I exit the ballroom and enter the corridor, where it's virtually empty. It gives me a few minutes by myself, at any rate. I just can't _stand_ Malfoy and his attitude and the way he's manipulating not only me but my friends and now my life, too.

"That was rude."

I turn at the sound of that very familiar voice. Malfoy's standing outside the ballroom door with narrowed eyes. "Yeah? My apologies."

"Hermione was trying to do a nice thing there, and Astoria has wanted to meet you for a very long time. You walking off like that was very rude indeed. I think you should go back there and apologise."

I think he's actually serious. "Apologise? Are you mad? You're the one that's manipulating everyone. Hermione and Astoria may not know better, but I do."

Malfoy jumps forward and pushes me against the wall. "How many times have I told you not to speak about my wife?"

"You're crazy," I say with laboured breaths as he presses hard on my chest. "You're the one who just engineered the entire situation so we met. I would have happily gone my whole life not meeting her."

He narrows his eyes at me. I do the same. 

"Why do you have to make everything so _difficult_ , Potter?"

I roll my eyes and turn away from his glare. How can he possibly think I'm making things difficult? He's the one pretending he wants to get to know me and be my friend. Perhaps he thinks it'll make it easier for us to see each other if we're not obviously enemies anymore. Still, why can't he be normal and just come out and _say_ that? "Just fuck off, Malfoy. You didn't want to spend time with me before, yet for some reason you want to now. Why? Why mess me around like this?"

"It's _my_ prerogative, Potter. This 'relationship' of ours is on _my_ terms. You don't get to dictate anything."

He makes me want to scream, and not from his talented cock this time. I may enjoy my sexual encounters with Malfoy, but I certainly don't enjoy his company outside of that. He's an arrogant, manipulative bastard, and I don't think I can cope with that on a friends-basis. This Quidditch game on Wednesday is going to be awkward and uncomfortable. There's no way I can get out of it with Hermione, Ron and Draco wanting me to go. "You're such a control freak."

"Perhaps," Malfoy murmurs into my ear. His breath on my skin is hot, and his mouth is so near. It's enticing, and I hate myself for it, but I want nothing more than for him to lick my ear, nibble on my neck or kiss me as passionately as he can. He doesn't, though. He just continues to tease me with his words and his mouth upon my ear. "But you want this, Potter. You _like_ this. You like _me_. You just won't admit it."

"Whatever." It's the best retort I can think of right now. He's right, and we both know it. With him so close, I'm starting to get aroused, and it's clouding my mind. "Just kiss me or go back to the party. You're not being fair."

"Fair?" Malfoy snorts, and his grip loosens a little. "Who said this was going to be fair? Do you think what we've done is fair to Astoria or the Weaslette? Do you think your mate Weasley, or even Hermione, would think it fair that we've had a thing together?" I don't speak. He's right again, the bastard. "No, didn't think so. So you're going to keep your pretty little mouth shut and be there when I want you. I don't even need to tell you; you'll come running whenever I call. You like it too much."

I quiver as he allows his hand to travel toward my crotch, teasing the outline of my cock but not directly touching it. I close my eyes and lean my head back, and just as I think that _maybe_ he might just want me again, he pulls away. My eyes shoot open, and I see him heading for the door. When he turns back just before he leaves, the smirk upon his face is enough for me to groan in both arousal and anger.

I know I probably _shouldn't_ go back to Malfoy again, for the sake of not only my sanity and my wife but my reputation too. There's a lot riding on this if we get found out, and yet I'm aware I can't stop myself. I can't control myself around Malfoy, and I can't help but think _damn it, why should I?_ I've spent the majority of my life doing things for others; first I was the Dursleys' general dogsbody, and then a Wizarding world I'd only just discovered had waited for me to kill Voldemort since I was a baby.

Why _shouldn't_ I do something just for me for once? Why _shouldn't_ I be selfish? 

I re-enter the party and head back to Ron, passing Ginny on the way. She doesn't even see me; she's far too busy chatting up the new guy. The worst thing is, I don't even care. I know I should, but I don't. She's having her fun, so I'll have mine.

It's just a shame that my fun is Malfoy, because I hate him more now than I ever have.


End file.
